


Imminent Revolution

by writing_addiction



Series: Imminent Revolution [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One-Sided Attraction, Social media everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_addiction/pseuds/writing_addiction
Summary: Russian figure skating prodigy Viktor Nikiforov pours everything inside him into qualifying for the Grand Prix Final in his senior debut, wanting nothing more than to meet the one and only Yuuri Katsuki on the ice for the first time.  "Imagine skating like he does," he thinks.  "It's like his body is creating music."  (Role reversal AU where Viktor is a 17 year old fanboy and Yuuri is his idol.)





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, this work (and the quote used in the summary as well as the fic) was directly inspires by this lovely artwork: http://narootos.tumblr.com/post/154649302171/reversal . Permission was graciously granted from the artist to write this bad boy. Please go check out this great artist's blog and the rest of her art, it's honestly to die for!!! Secondly, the tags are pretty sparse right now, but will be updated as characters are introduced and potential mental health triggers are covered in the text.

Viktor Nikiforov is three years old the first time he goes ice skating.  He falls down quite a lot, of course, and he’s bruised all over the next morning, but he instantly falls in love with the whole affair.  The feeling of gliding along over the smooth surface of the ice gives him a bubbly feeling in his chest, and by the time he gets the hang of balancing by himself, he’s screeching with joyful laughter.  After that, he begs his mother to take him skating every day, and when he’s a little older, begs her just as insistently to let him take lessons.  She gives in eventually, reluctantly, because he’s just a child, and he’s going to lose interest in this hobby after a few months, and she will have lost all that money for nothing.  

He doesn't give up.  It's too much fun!  He quickly befriends the other children at the rink where he takes lessons, and soon, he's too invested in their successes as well as his own to quit.  Though there are definitely moments when he wants to never step foot on the ice again, his teacher and his fellow students always bring him out of his funk and encourage him to get up and try again.  The support they show him is heartfelt and amazing, and he's never known anything like it.

Viktor is seven years old when he wins his first competition, if an in-house skate-off between his rink mates can be called that, and the surge of pride and happiness and adrenaline coursing through his veins as he steps onto the small ‘podium’ his teacher had fashioned out of a discarded wooden shipping crate lights a fire somewhere deep in his soul that he hadn’t been aware existed.  It was like the flash of relief one felt when the lights came back on after a power failure, but mixed with the warmth of a parent’s praise and the excitement of self-discovery.  This is it.  This is what he wants.  For the rest of his life, he wants to hang on to that feeling.

His teacher encourages him to keep pursuing his skating, and despite the disparaging remarks he earns from his parents, he keeps at it.  He works hard every day and keeps his dreams right in front of him, never loses sight of them.  He takes dance classes and music classes and anything he thinks might give him an advantage in the long run. Just before his ninth birthday, he watches the Junior Grand Prix Finals, amazed at all the talented older kids that have come before him, and discovers a Japanese skater by the name of Yuuri Katsuki.  Yuuri has just turned fifteen years old, according to the announcer, making him the youngest finalist there that year, and as he takes to the ice and begins his short program, Viktor knows instantly there is something about Yuuri that all the other skaters are missing.  His body flows to the music, and his skating looks effortless, and his costume is gorgeous, and and and--!!!

And in that moment, Viktor knows that he must keep skating, keep training, keep _winning_ in order to earn the honor of competing against Yuuri someday.

Viktor can’t recall the name of the song Yuuri skated to that day, but he will never forget the smile on Yuuri’s face after he finished skating and heard the roar of the crowd cheering for him.  Viktor cheers too, throwing his arms in the air when the score is announced and Yuuri rockets into first place, overthrowing the former leader by almost fifteen points.  Makkachin is napping beside him, and the poor dear barks in confusion as Viktor cheers for Yuuri.  He calms his pup down with a few well-placed pets and scratches, but he cannot calm himself so easily .  He doesn’t really know how it’s possible to feel so close to someone he’s never met, but he doesn’t question it.  He likes this feeling.  It's big and warm and fills his entire body with light.

Every spare ruble he comes by in the next few months goes towards buying merchandise of Yuuri.  There’s not that much, if he’s being honest, because Yuuri is relatively new to the competitive scene still.  Mostly it’s just posters, and it’s basically all from Japan and is therefore written in Japanese, so he doesn’t understand what’s written on it, but he buys them anyway.  He hangs the posters on his bedroom walls and spend countless hours sneaking looks at them as he does his homework or cleans his room or anything else.  Sometimes he just outright stares, wondering how such a wonderful, talented, _beautiful_ human being can even exist.  

While rewatching a video of one of Yuuri’s free skates and mindlessly petting Makkachin a few years later, he can’t help but be in awe of his idol.  Viktor glaces up again at a poster near his bed and sighs.  “Imagine skating like he does,” he says, transfixed.  “It’s like his body is creating music.”

The winter he turns fourteen, Viktor manages, through months of intense training with his coach Yakov, by pouring his heart and soul and everything else that’s inside him directly onto the ice, along with gallons of blood, sweat, and tears, to qualify for the Junior Grand Prix Finals.  He ends up placing third, just barely earning himself the bronze.  He scores only two points better than the young man he beats, and Viktor doesn’t enjoy being that close to missing the podium altogether.  He under-rotated one of his jumps in the second half and fell, and he’d felt sure that one mistake would have ruined his chances.  He’d slid in by the skin of his teeth, though, and now he’s standing in the middle of the ice with his fellow victors, his medal a comforting weight against his chest and the back of his neck, and he can’t stop smiling.

Suddenly, the gold medalist, a seventeen year old boy from Thailand whose name he can’t quite remember, jumps off the podium and flies toward his coach.  The man is baffled and starts to frown, but his skater jumps into an animated monologue and points to something.  The coach just shakes his head and bends down to hand whatever it is to his student.  He skates back out to the podium clutching the item, and as Viktor and the silver medalist (Leo…?  De la Something, maybe?) stare at one another in confusion, the older teen jumps back into place and ushers them both closer to him.  He holds one arm out in front of him and announces, “Podium selfie!” with a huge grin.  As he snaps the picture, both Viktor and Leo are grinning and laughing loudly, and Viktor has honestly never had more fun in his entire life.

The following two years, Viktor snatches the gold medal in the Junior GPF.  He breaks all kinds of score records that first year, and, completely unsatisfied, blows his own out of the water the year after.  In those two short years, he also wins gold medals at the Junior Worlds and the Russian Nationals and a handful of other competitions, and the ubiquitous “They” of the competitive skating world are hailing him as a living legend, as a relentless prodigy with infinite potential and an unimaginably bright future as a figure skater.  Yakov calls him a genius but makes sure to follow up the praise with a critique.  There is always room for improvement, Yakov tells him, and Viktor knows it’s true.

The summer before Viktor turns seventeen years old, he convinces Yakov to let him compete in the senior division.  He places second in Skate America that year, and somehow takes the gold in the Rostelecom Cup right out from under his rink mate Georgi Popovich.  He’s unsure how, but he’s not complaining.  He _is_ somewhat disappointed with his assignments, though, because Yuuri Katsuki isn’t there with him at either of his events.  He’s been sent to compete in the Trophée de France and the Cup of China, and Viktor has been hoping against hope for years that he could have a chance to share the ice with Yuuri.  But no matter.  He’s going to the Grand Prix Final, and he’ll finally get an opportunity to meet his idol, to go to battle in front of the judges and see which of them comes out on top.

He gives it his absolute best, but during his free skate, one of his two quads somehow turns into a double. He tries to compensate by adding a spontaneous triple axel after his final planned jump, but his knees give way and he falls flat on his ass, skidding across the ice without the time or the strength left to get up or stop himself.  He plows into the side of the rink, head thumping painfully against the wall, and for a few stomach-churning moments, he can’t tell if the cracking sound he hears is from his skates connecting with the wall or if he’s just broken every bone on the right side of his body.  Horrified by his own stupidity, he feels the hot sting of tears behind his eyes and just lays there on the ice until a pair of medics jump over the wall.  Yakov is there too, asking him if he’s okay, if he can move, if he can speak at all, just say something, goddamn it, Vitya, _anything_!

Viktor lets out a wavering, “ _Der’mo._ ”

Yakov rolls his eyes even as he breathes a sigh of relief.  The man is at least kind enough to wait until after Viktor is cleared by the medics to be moved off the ice to chew him out for his idiocy.  The judges seem to agree with his coach, and they give him a score that’s only marginally better than what he feels he deserves.  Disappointment fills him, but he tries to ignore it, tries to look for the silver lining.  The only thing he can think of is that he should be proud he even made it to the GPF in his senior debut.  He's proud of himself for _all_ his accomplishments, despite this performance’s mistake due to his hubris, and he knows that next year he can only improve on his standings.

Yakov makes him go to the hospital after he receives his score, to ensure he doesn't have a concussion or some other injury.  Viktor insists that he's fine, but the more time that passes, the more insistent his headache and a certain twinge in his forearm becomes.  His doctor orders a CT scan of his head and xrays of his right arm and ankle.  The lady who takes him to have the tests done is nice, and she compliments him on his beautiful hair.  She asks him a dozen questions about what happened to him, and though he understands why it's medically necessary, it only serves to remind him that this whole experience could have been avoided if he hadn't spontaneously changed up his jump composition.

As he’s waiting for his results, the rest of his group text him to say they’re in the waiting room.  Yakov leaves him for a moment to catch them up on his condition, and when he returns, the first thing Viktor asks is, “The final standings…?”

In the end, after the last two competitors had performed in his absence, Yuuri Katsuki unsurprisingly takes the gold, Phichit Chulanont takes silver, and Jean-Jacques Leroy of Canada takes bronze.

Viktor places 6th.  Dead last.

All his tests come back normal, no concussion, no fractures, but the doctor warns him that he has to be more careful in future, or else he could flirt with sustaining an injury that could end his career.  Yakov repeats the sentiment, vehemently and with much more cursing, on the way back to the hotel.

Viktor listens and nods, but there's no way he can take less risks.  He has to win, has to qualify for the GPF next year, has to pull out all the stops and be worthy of Yuuri’s attention and, hopefully, the blessing of his approval.

There's still a chance to at least meet Yuuri in person during the banquet, though!  That is, if Yakov can be convinced that he's not an invalid and is fine and able to go.  He has a difficult time making a case by himself, but Mila and Georgi chime in in his favor.  Yakov gives up the argument because he says it's not worth wasting his time.  

When they arrive, Viktor immediately scouts out the area in search of Yuuri.  He spots him off in a corner, surrounded by a few friends and a whole gaggle of reporters and other media figures.  Phichit Chulanont is there, too, the Thai skater he'd been on the podium with two years before, and Viktor notices as the man pokes Yuuri and asks for a selfie that he's wearing a brightly polished gold band encircling his left ring finger.  Viktor gasps audibly, mouth agape, and grabs at Mila’s arm.

“Mila, look!” he exclaims, tugging her away from her conversation.

She lets out an annoyed groaned.  “What is it, Viktor?”

He points over to where Phichit and Yuuri are standing, and his smile widens when he realizes that they're holding hands.  “ _Look!_  Mila, look at them!  They're wearing matching rings!  That must mean they’re engaged now, right?”

Mila smiles too, but Viktor can tell she's not as enthralled by the sight as he is.  “Oh, that's nice.  Good for them.”

Georgi pulls him away before he can approach Yuuri and Phichit to congratulate them on sharing the podium again this year.  Apparently he’s crushing on an ice dancer and thinks Viktor’s presence might help him make a better impression on her, make him act like less of a lovestruck fool and more like a dignified gentleman.  It doesn't work at first, not really, but once Georgi relaxes and lets himself enjoy the conversation for its own merit, Viktor sneaks away unnoticed and leaves them to it.

Anya doesn't seem like his type, but whatever.

By the time he finds Phichit again (who is, predictably, taking lots of pictures and blowing up all his social media), Yuuri is nowhere to be found.  A group of skaters takes their leave and Viktor sees his opportunity.  He’s a little nervous--he’s only met Phichit the once, at the Junior GPF, after all--but thankfully, he’s saved the awkwardness of trying to introduce himself when he catches Phichit’s gaze.

“Viktor!” he exclaims, smiling brightly and reaching for his hand to shake.  “It's nice to see you again!  You did such a great job on your short program!  Keep up the hard work!”

Viktor tries not to notice that Phichit makes no mention of his botched free skate.  “Thank you!” he replies with a smile of his own.  “You and Yuuri did great too!  Congratulations on your wins!”

Phichit laughs happily.  “Thank you so much.  We worked really hard to perfect our programs for this year.  I'm glad it paid off.”

“I was looking at you and your coach in the kiss and cry at the end of Yuuri’s free skate.  I thought you were both going to have a stroke when Yuuri turned his last jump into a quad flip!”

“He's never landed it in practice before,” Phichit replies, leaning against the wall behind him, “and when he told me what he wanted to do, I begged him not to.  An injury right now would be deathblow to his career momentum.  But Yuuri is Yuuri.  He likes to push himself more than anything else.”

Phichit’s phone vibrates in his hand, and as he checks the notification, which is a comment from Guang-Hong Ji on one of his Instagram photos, Viktor takes a step closer and murmurs, “Also, Phichit, I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement.”

The squealing sound that issues from his mouth is loud and sudden enough to momentarily stop all conversation in the room.  His cheeks tinged with pink, he bows a silent apology to the rest of the rooms inhabitants, and the other conversations resume once again.  “I'm so glad you noticed, Viktor.  No one else has said anything to us, and I was beginning to think that I might run out of creative new ways to pose us in pictures so we can flash our rings….”

A chuckle escapes him, and he asks Phichit if they’ve set a date for their wedding yet.  His only reward is a casual, “Soon, probably, I hope.”  

“How did it happen?” he asks, acutely aware of how his eyes must be shining, how his mouth hurts from grinning.  He gets that way when he thinks about Yuuri and Phichit’s relationship.  It’s cute and precious and everything Viktor wants for himself one day.

Phichit frowns for just a moment before realization strikes him.  “Oh, you ended up going to the hospital, that’s right!  You couldn’t have known about it.”  He unlocks his phone and thumbs through his Instagram feed.  “I think Chris tagged us in a photo…?  Right, here it is!  Yuuri conspired with our coach to hide everything, so I didn’t know anything about it until we were up on the podium.  And then right before we all stepped down, he jumped in front of me, dropped down onto one knee, and pulled the ring out of heaven only knows where.  In front of everybody!  He proposed to me on live international television, Viktor!”

Viktor’s jaw drops and he covers his own warm, flushed face with his hands.  “I knew it had to be recent, but I didn’t think _that_ recent!  And no one has asked about it, not even the press?”

“No!  You understand my struggle, don't you?  I just wanna run around and shout about how much I love that boy and how excited I am to marry him, and _no one_ is giving me an opening!  How terribly cruel of them!”

They talk for a while longer about a whole range of different topics, and it’s only when Phichit is showing him a picture of Yuuri holding one of their ‘beloved children,’ a tiny, fat, adorable brown hamster named Prosciutto apparently, that he asks where Yuuri is.

Phichit shrugs.  “With Celestino probably.  He gets anxious around crowds sometimes, so he tends to stick with one of us if possible.”  There's a beat of silence before Phichit glances up at him, realization dawning in his eyes.  “ _Oh_!  You've never met Yuuri, have you?  Come on, let's find him and get some pics together!”

Phichit grabs his hand and tugs him along, and with two sets of eyes, Viktor thinks, it should only take them half as long to find him.  He can't control his grin.  This is it. The moment he's been waiting for for _years_.

They find Celestino near the bar, a half-empty glass of champagne held loosely in his fingers, and he's flirting with one of the women coaches.  The lady is very obviously enjoying herself, and for a moment, Viktor doesn't want to bother them.  But Phichit charges in and throws himself across Celestino’s shoulders.   “Ciao Ciao!  Where's my Yuuri?  I need kisses, and I can't find him anywhere!  Celestino!!  Where are you hiding my Yuuri~?”  

The lady excuses herself with a polite smile, and the older man turns to glare at his student.  “What was that all about?”

“Revenge,” is the cheeky reply, the tip of his tongue poking out from between dark lips.  “You booked us all in one room _knowing_ how Yuuri and I celebrate every time one of us wins a competition!  If I can't get laid tonight, neither can you.”

Celestino rolls his eyes but doesn't respond.  Viktor feels slightly out of place in this conversation, like a child that the adults have forgotten is in the room.  It doesn't last long, though, because Phichit drops the facade.  “But no, really, where _is_ Yuuri?  Viktor wants to meet him, but he's no nowhere to be found….”

Celestino seems to take note of him for the first time.  “Ah, Viktor Nikiforov, the young rising star of Russian figure skating.  Nice to meet you at last.”  He tips his head towards Viktor, who parrots the gesture with a smile, before turning back to Phichit.  “Yuuri’s not with you?  He told me he would be, last time I saw him.”

Phichit shakes his head.  “No, I haven't seen him since Chris stole him away earlier.  I figured they'd be dancing for a while like they always do, but he never came back.”

“Well, have you checked the toilets?  You know how he gets after competitions sometimes.”

Phichit hums quietly.  “No, I hadn't thought of that.  Thanks, Ciao Ciao!”

They have no luck on that front either.  Viktor is mildly confused about why Yuuri might have been found in a bathroom, but he doesn't want to be rude and ask.  Phichit sighs and hops up to sit on the edge of the countertop in between two of the sinks.  “I wonder if his anxiety got so bad he needed to go back to the room for his medicine?”  A beat of silence passes, and Phichit shakes his head.  “This is silly.  Let me just call him and see where he is.”

Viktor can hear the dampened din of conversation and the steady beat of the music playing nearby through the walls.  It’s disconcerting in a way, makes him feel distant and disconnected and very, very small.  They are alone in the restroom at that moment, and the quiet inside the room is only underscored by the noise from without.  Viktor can just barely hear the ringing of the call as the cell phone is pressed to Phichit’s ear, and when Yuuri’s voicemail greeting plays, something in Viktor's stomach balls up in a knot, curls tight and uncomfortable against his core.

He can see the same change in Phichit’s body language as he leaves a message.  “Oi, Yuuri~  Where are you, love?  Viktor Nikiforov is here and he wants to meet you!  If your anxiety is bad, that's okay, we understand, but I'm getting worried.  Please get in touch, okay?   _Phom rak khun_.”

He sends a text message immediately after ending the call, muttering under his breath, and Viktor can't help but feel like the forgotten child again.  “If he’s that bad off, though, he might not return a phone call.  A text is less stressful for him.  Maybe I should…?  No.  Just give him some time and space.”

They exit the restroom, and Phichit drags him around the banquet area again, asking anyone who they think might be able to give them a clue where Yuuri is.  The “Chris” who supposedly stole Yuuri away earlier in the evening turns out to be Christophe Giacometti from Switzerland, and Phichit looks stunned when he says that they never actually got to dance, that Yuuri had excused himself shortly after they’d taken their leave of Phichit.  Clearly disappointed, Phichit nods his thanks towards his friend and returns to the search.  He starts checking his phone once every couple of minutes, but no response ever comes.  

By the time they've made the full circuit of the room twice, Phichit is outright panicking.  He dials another number, and as he waits for it to be answered, he finally acknowledges Viktor again.  “Listen, I'm sorry I dragged you into this.  It was lovely to see you again and catch up, but I've got to find Yuuri.  This kind of behavior isn’t--Celestino!  Hey, hang on a sec--Anyway, Viktor, DM me on Twitter or something and remind me about getting your picture, okay?  I'm sorry to rush off on you like this, but I have go.  I have to find Yuuri.  I'm sorry!”

He turns without another word and continues the conversation with his coach.  Viktor doesn't catch all of it, but what he does hear as Phichit’s voice fades away and he disappears into the crowd worries him.  

“I think Yuuri’s in danger.”

Viktor stands perfectly still, too dumbstruck by Phichit’s statement to think about anything else.  Yuuri is...in danger?  

Why?  

How?

He's aware of eyes pricking at the back of his neck and of hushed voices around him whispering his name.  But he ignores it in favor of running after Phichit.  If Yuuri’s in danger for whatever reason, then the more help they had to search for him, the better.  

Right?

He catches up to the other two at the elevators and calls their names.  “Is there something I can do to help?  I don't mind to--”

“No, Viktor, it's fine,” Phichit insists.  The elevator doors open, and as they step inside, Phichit raises one hand to stop Viktor from following.  “Go back to your friends.”

“But--”

“Viktor!”  Phichit’s voice is rough and miserable, and his eyes flash with an odd mixture of desperation and resolve.  “There is nothing you can do now.  Please leave it to us and go back to the party.”

The doors slide shut before Viktor can respond, and the last thing he sees is the glint of Phichit’s engagement ring in the dim lighting of the lift.  In the sudden silence, Viktor can hear his own pulse pounding in his ears.  His breathing is ragged, uneven, and he feels so frightened that he’s sure he might faint.  He sits down, back against the cool stone of the wall, and decides to wait until Celestino and Phichit come back downstairs.

_What's happening to Yuuri?_ he wonders.

“There you are, Vitya!” a voice calls nearby.  It's Georgi, concern and annoyance written plain on his face.  “Yakov’s about to blow a gasket.  We've been looking everywhere for you.  What are you doing here?”

Viktor looks up at his rink mate, expressionless and numb, and says nothing.

Georgi extends a hand to him.  “Well...come on.  Yakov wants to get back soon.  We have to leave early in the morning to make it to the airport on time, you know.”

Viktor takes the proffered hand, and as they walk back towards main entrance to meet their group, he doesn't let go.  They walk down a few blocks to their own hotel, and Viktor keeps holding Georgi’s hand the whole way.  He's silent, stuck up in his own head, in a whirling vortex of circular thoughts and bone-deep, soul-crushing worry.  It feels like there's a hurricane raging inside him, stirring up dark emotions that he wasn't aware he held inside him and bombarding his heart with them.

_What's happening to Yuuri?_ he asks himself again, and again, and again, and he never has anything even beginning to approach a satisfying answer.

Yakov takes him aside when they arrive at their suite and asks him if he's okay.  

Viktor doesn't respond.

“Vitya,” his coach says softly, and it reminds him of how his father used to say his name, back in the days when he was still proud of his son.  “If you don't say something, I'm taking you back to the hospital.”

_What's happening to Yuuri?_

“I'm fine,” he chokes out over the lump in his throat.  “I'm fine, just...tired.”

Yakov’s brows draw together.  He takes Yuuri’s head in his hands and forces him to look at his face.  “Viktor.  Head injuries are a serious matter, and doctors aren't infallible.  If we need to go back to the hospital--”

Hearing that word again breaks something inside him.  He wrenches Yakov’s hands away from him and takes a step back.  His voice is loud enough that the others can hear him, and he sees Mila’s dusky red mop of hair peek around a corner.  “Stop asking me if I'm okay, Yakov!  I told you, I'm fine!  You really think I would fuck around with a concussion or something?”

That comment only serves to spark a shouting match with his coach, and it's not until the hotel staff knock at the door and ask them to quiet down (and threaten to call the police if they don't) that Viktor realizes how late in the evening it is.  He storms off to his bed and pointedly ignores everyone else in favor of playing around on his phone. He checks his social media and sends Phichit the requested DM, inquiring after Yuuri’s wellbeing.  “We have to leave early in the morning, so I won't be able to get a picture.  ;-;  Another time!  Is Yuuri okay, though?  Will you tell him I thought his performances were amazing!  I hope he feels better soon!!!”

He overdoes it with the exclamation points, but he would rather come off as excessively cheerful than as unconcerned or void of any genuine emotions.  His stomach still churns with worry, so badly that he can't even finish the slice of toast he makes for breakfast before leaving the hotel.  Yakov watches him closely as they travel back to Moscow, eyes searching for the first sign of illness or unwellness.  Viktor tries to telepathically dare Yakov to ask if he's okay again, and it comes across as a sour glare.  Which does the trick, he supposes.

It's not until two weeks after the Grand Prix Final that Phichit messages him back.  Viktor has resigned himself to never hearing back at all, almost brings himself to resent Phichit for stringing him along.  He tries to give the other man some slack, though, as Phichit is uncharacteristically silent on all social media for eight full days after the competition.  Viktor even fantasizes at one point that maybe the two of them had run away somewhere romantic to get married, as drunk off their second gold-and-silver wins in the GPF as they were off their obviously deep love for one another.  But he's being silly.  Viktor’s always been a bit of a hopeless romantic himself, and he’s never able to see Yuuri and Phichit together without smiling.

The message says, “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, Viktor.  Things have been kind of hectic here lately.  Yuuri’s okay, and he says thanks for the support!  <3  If you’ll be going to the Worlds, we can make dinner plans or something, okay?”

As relieved as he is to hear that Yuuri is okay, something about the message feels off, like it’s unfinished.  Viktor can almost see how many times it’s been deleted and rewritten and edited half to death.  It reminds him that Phichit, for all his kindness and effervescent friendliness, is still basically a stranger to him, and that Viktor shouldn’t be trying to pry into the intimate details of his and Yuuri’s lives.  As big of fan of Yuuri’s as he is, he’s aware that the Japanese skater has always struggled with overcoming his nerves at competitions.  It’s only natural to be a little nervous at times like that, after all, and Yuuri always pulls through, even that time he had a panic attack right before it was his turn to skate!  Viktor has always had faith in Yuuri’s ability to conquer his fears and come back onto the ice with renewed confidence.  It’s a trait that Viktor has tried to emulate in his own career, something for which he hopes Yuuri can be proud of him one day.

But the disappearing act he pulled at the banquet that night had, by Phichit’s own direct admission, been out of character and extremely worrisome.  As his rink mate and his lover, Phichit’s concern is understandable.  But the looks of abject terror that marred Phichit’s face the longer it took to find Yurri still puzzle him, not because of the strength or depth of those emotions, but rather because they solidify Viktor’s fear that Yuuri had genuinely been in trouble that night.  “In danger” isn’t a phrase that people use frivolously.

Viktor types out another message: “Yeah, I’ll be there.  So Yuuri’s not in danger anymore, right?  I was worried about him after you left.”

He never gets an answer.

Not a direct one anyhow, and certainly not from Phichit.  Viktor’s almost forgotten about it when, four days before the World Figure Skating Championships are set to begin, he’s checking his VK page and sees a post from one of the Yuuri Katsuki fanclubs he follows that contains a link to the website of an American newspaper.  The body of the post reads, “So sad to hear!  Our thoughts are with you as you recover, Yuuri!”

As he taps on the link, his heart pounding, his jaws clenching together painfully, Viktor prays the new isn’t what he thinks it might be.  But it turns out to be exactly what he fears.  The title is: “Japanese Skating Legend Yuuri Katsuki Suddenly Hospitalized.”

Viktor skims the short article quickly.  There’s not much in the way of verifiable, factual information, though.  The author states that Yuuri was rushed to a local hospital in Detroit late at night two days before, although “sources close to the skater” (which could only mean Phichit and Celestino) were refusing to release any additional information.  Most of the rest of it is just speculation as to the reason Yuuri was admitted, how long he might stay, and how this might affect his career in the future.  There is also a short biography of Yuuri, obviously written for people who aren’t skating fans and that absolutely did not live up to his awesome reputation, and Viktor would be more angry if the next few sentences don’t immediately fill him with dread.

“A video posted earlier today to the Instagram account of Katsuki’s partner and fellow athlete Phichit Chulanont seems to indicate that the Japanese skater is considering taking a break from competitive skating.  The skating circles of the internet are panicked and buzzing with curiosity as they anxiously await new information on the condition of their beloved Yuuri.”

Viktor has never closed one app and opened another faster in his life.  He scrolls through his feed and searches for the post in question, and when he finds it, he’s slightly taken aback.  He assumed it would be Phichit talking in the video, since that’s what he thought the article implied, but he’s surprised to see Yuuri’s face instead.  He taps the play button and quickly turns up the volume.

“Hello, everybody,” Yuuri says softly, and Viktor can instantly see the pain and exhaustion on his face, hear it in his voice.  “It’s very late here right now, but...I asked Phichit to record this before I go to sleep.  So basically, um, I wanted to let you guys know that I have to be in the hospital for a little while.  I don’t know yet when I can go home, but hopefully soon.  Because of this situation, I won’t be able to go to the Worlds or do any other skating until further notice.  I don’t want you guys to worry, though!  Please continue to have faith in me so I can recover quickly, and please cheer for all the other talented skaters who are performing soon.”

The video ends with Yuuri attempting a smile (but not quite succeeding) and sending off a hesitant kiss toward the camera with shaking hands.  Each gesture is stiff and practiced, more a habit left over from previously-made videos than anything else, an attempted reassurance that nothing has changed.  Clearly something has.  It loops back to the beginning automatically, and Viktor watches it half a dozen times before he lets himself believe what he's hearing.  Yuuri really isn't going to be skating anymore this year.

But _why_?  The video doesn't betrayed any visual signs of bodily trauma like cuts or bruises or a cast encasing a broken bone.  Yuuri is always vocal about how much he loves figure skating.  Why would he leave a career even temporarily that obviously fulfills him so much?  It's even given him true love, his fiancé, his soul mate!  How can Yuuri just turn his back on everyone like that?!

This time, Viktor refuses to let go of his emotions.  He stays angry and confused and lets those feelings fuel the routine he performs at the World Championships.  It doesn't pay off exactly as he plans, though, and Christophe snipes the gold right out from under him.  The good news is that Mila and another of their rink mates, Yuri Plisetsky, both claim first place in the Women's and Junior divisions, respectively.

Yakov doesn't seem that disappointed in him for losing his cool and missing the gold, but Viktor apologizes to him anyway.  “I know you always tell us that we should be passionate about our performances, but I let my feelings about...something else get in the way and I messed everything up.”

“Your skating was flawless,” Yakov replies.

Viktor waits for that statement to be followed by some kind of critique, but it isn't.  He's too stunned to think of anything else to say.

“Vitya,” Yakov sighs, laying his hands on his student's shoulders, “I have only ever expected you to do your best and continue honing your skills, not to win medals.  As it happens, your best is phenomenal and has earned you strong praise and many first-place wins so far.  You're a supremely talented young man, and very driven to succeed in this world, but if you think about your skating only in terms of how many gold medals you can collect, you will fail.”

Eyes wide, Viktor gapes at his coach.  Although Yakov isn't the type of coach who is malicious or vindictive, he certainly doesn’t coddle anyone either.  He can be demanding of and tough on his students at times.  Pressure is his go-to form of motivation, but he has a deft hand and never applies it in too large a quantity or when it isn't required.  Viktor isn't used to straight compliments, and it feels strange to hear Yakov speak of him in such grand terms.

Yakov looks directly in his eyes and cups Viktor's head in his hands.  “Viktor.  One second place finish negates neither your years of hard work, your dedication, and all your impressive accomplishments, nor the immense pride I feel as your coach when I see you on the ice.”

It is one thing, Viktor thinks, to believe that someone you love must be proud of you, but it is quite another to hear the words come from that person’s mouth.  He buries his face in Yakov’s chest and lets himself cry.  Yakov says nothing, but his arms immediately wrap tightly his student until the tears stop.  They don’t speak as they part, only nod to one another in silent confirmation that their moment of emotional vulnerability is passed.

Yakov is especially demanding of him at practice the next day, to the point that Mila and Georgi come to his defense.

“No, it’s okay,” Viktor says, waving his rink mates away from his side.  “He’s right.  If I can’t land all my quads consistently now, how am I going to land them during competition?”

From the other end of the rink, Yuri screams, “Hey, Yakov, if Viktor can have quads in his routines, then why the hell can’t I?!”

With a smile, with his hands clasped behind his back, Viktor skates toward him.  “Because you can win even without quads, Yuri!  I’ll bet anything on it!  Your skating is almost as beautiful as Yuuri Katsuki’s.”

Yuri’s face goes bright red with rage.  “Don’t you compare me to that pig, Viktor!  Did you see how much weight he’s gained over the last few months?  It’s like he doesn’t even care anymore!  Don’t you dare ever say I’m anything like that jerk ever again, you bastard!”

Viktor turns and skates away again, a sly smile curving his lips.  He gains enough speed and again tries the quad loop he's been attempting all day.  He lands it like it's nothing, and he hears Yuri’s indignant screams behind him.  Viktor imagines the younger boy breathing fire in his anger, like some kind of dragon that lives in an icy cave, and he can't repress a peal of bright laughter.

Yakov calls an early end to practice that day, but Viktor stays behind.  He likes having the rink to himself.  The ice feels like home, and the wave of peacefulness that washes over him when he can indulge in his art simply for the pleasure of it, with no other goal in mind but enjoyment for its own sake, is the best feeling in the world.  He doesn't try any jumps he hasn't already perfected; he doesn't need to risk an injury while he's alone.  He focuses on the music pumping through his ear buds, and once again, he tries to do what Yuuri can do, dance on the ice and let the music flow outward from his heart, through his limbs, and into the very souls of the people watching him.  Viktor has been trying to perfect that technique since he was 10 years old, and he's not been able to thus far.  He's beginning to wonder if it's even possible for him to do.  Maybe it's something unique to Yuuri.

A few weeks later, Georgi compliments him on the delicacy of his movements, how he looks soft and fluid and boneless in his gestures, and though it's not quite “creating music with his body,” the commendation means that his efforts aren't entirely fruitless.  His heart soars.

Although Viktor isn't a social media addict like some of his fellow skaters, he does make a habit of checking Instagram every day, as it's the site that Phichit uses most often and is therefore the premier spot for up-to-date information about Yuuri.  Ever since he saw the video announcing Yuuri’s hiatus, he’s been obsessively watching out for more news regarding his idol, anything that might give him a clue as to when Yuuri might return to figure skating, if at all.  Viktor tries not to think about what he would do if Yuuri decides to retire permanently.  Oh, he would still compete himself, and he's sure he would still do reasonably well.  But watching Yuuri skate has been the joy of his existence for as long as he can remember, and he's not keen on being in a world without the breath-taking beauty of Yuuri’s performances, or the way he smiles and has tears in his eyes when he finishes his routines.  The way he flows effortlessly over the ice, and the way his jumps seem to come from nowhere.  The way he pours his very soul into each piece.  The way he and Phichit love and support each other in everything, and the way they always exchange a soft kiss for good luck before either of them take to the ice.

He confides in Mila, who he secretly thinks of as his big sister.  Curled into her side, one of her arms wrapped around his shoulders, he tells her everything he feels about Yuuri, how important he is to him, and how he hopes to be able to meet him on the ice again someday.  He can't see Mila’s face, but he can hear her smile in her voice.  “Oh my, Vitya, you've got it bad, don't you?”

He blushes.  

“He'll come back eventually, Viktor.  If he's had an injury, it's in his best interest not to rush his recovery.  You know that.”

“But no one knows what's going on with him!  That's the worst part….”

She runs her fingers through his hair, a gesture that normally pacifies him.  It doesn't do anything of the sort now.  “He's not obligated to tell anyone anything about his medical history if he doesn't want to.”

“I know!  I know, Mila, but he's never hidden anything from us before!  It's just strange that he should be all secretive about it this time, that's all.”

“Yuuri knows what's best for him,” she says calmly, hands still playing in his hair.  “When he's ready to talk to his fans, he will.  He won't leave you in the dark forever.  Just be patient, Vitya.”

“When he's ready” turns out to be the next morning.  It's all over the Internet by the time he wakes up: Yuuri Katsuki, Japan's 23 year old figure skating pride-and-joy, 5-time Grand Prix Final gold medalist, 3-time World Champion, former Olympian, and probably the best figure skater in the history of the sport, is extending his hiatus into an early retirement.

No.  This can't be right.  Yuuri can't...retire just like that, can he?  What could be so goddamn life-changing that it would require hospitalization, months of veritable radio silence, and now a sudden idiotic decision to quit during the peak of his career?

Viktor checks Instagram and finds a new video has been posted to Yuuri’s account.  Yuuri looks horrible, dark circles staining his eyes, hair messy as if he's only just gotten out of bed.  His cheeks are round and soft, and it's the first time Viktor's actually noticed how much weight Yuuri has put on since the previous winter.  

The video is relatively short, and the only thing Yuuri says is, “For those who haven't heard already, I've made the decision to retire.  The past few months have been hard on me, and I've put a lot of thought into how I can improve my situation _and_ return to the ice, but...I've slowly come to the realization that I can't have both.  Thank you all for your support over the past decade.  It's been the best thing that's ever happened to me.  So...yeah.  Thanks.”

Once again, he tries to smile and blow a kiss, but his voice has been shaking since the start and there are tears sliding down his cheeks already, and as soon as his hands touch his face, he breaks.  The video ends quickly, but not before the camera catches Yuuri hunching forward and letting out the most heartbreaking sob.

In the span of half a second, Viktor makes a decision that, while objectively rash and ill-advised and the stupidest thing he's ever done in his life, is the only thing he can think to do.

“I'm going to America,” he announces to Yakov the next morning.

His coach looks at him askance over the rim of his coffee mug.  “You are, huh.”

“Yes,” he replies, taking a seat on the bench to change into his skates.  “To Detroit, to be precise.”

“And when will you be making this trip, hmm?”  It’s clear that Yakov is either not awake enough to appreciate what he's saying or that he doesn't believe him.

“As soon as possible.  I still need to pack my things and buy the plane ticket and figure out what arrangements I need to make so Makkachin can come with me, but--”

Yakov waves a hand in front of him.  “Wait, wait, are you serious?  What's your purpose in going to the States?”  A brief pause passes between them before Yakov finally realizes what's going on.   “Viktor, no, I absolutely forbid you to do this.”

“I _have_ to, Yakov!” he insists

“No, you don’t,” his coach counters.  “The only thing you _have_ to do right now is focus on moving forward.  I know you’re disappointed that Katsuki is quitting, but do you really think a visit from little Viktor Nikiforov will change his mind?”

“It’s not a visit,” Viktor says, coming to the hardest part of the conversation.  He takes in a deep breath to steel his nerves before continuing. “I’m going to ask him to be my new coach.”

“Now see here, Viktor!” Yakov barks.  “Stop this foolishness!”

“It’s not foolishness, and I’m going to do it!”

He doesn't argue with his coach a lot, but when it does happen, it's always loud and passionate and attracts the attention of others.  His rink mates all rush in to see what the commotion is, try to get between them and stop the argument before it goes too far.  But it's already too late.  Yakov knows he's serious about leaving Russia and that no amount of arguing will convince him otherwise.  

“Stubborn asshole” is the exact phrase he uses.

Viktor storms out of practice without even stepping on the ice, and it's not long after that that he's got Makkachin and a suitcase by his side, waiting on a bus to take him to the airport.  A voice behind him calls his name, and he doesn't have to turn around to know who it is.

“Vitya!  You can’t leave.  Stay here.”

Viktor turns to face Yakov with a smile.  “You were the best coach I could have ever asked for, Yakov.  There will never be another coach like you.”

The older man frowns.  “If you walk away from me now, you can't come back.”

The threat is genuine, but Viktor knows what he has to do.  The bus pulls up to the stop, and he closes the space in between them with two long strides, pressing an affectionate kiss to his coaches cheek.  “ _Dasvidaniya._ I'm sorry I can't listen to you this time, but I know I need to follow my heart on this matter.  Thank you for everything.”

As he climbs onto the bus, he hears Yakov yelling again.  “You can't say ‘this time’ when you've never listened to anything I've said to you once in your life, Viktor Nikiforov!”

As soon as his plane lands and he makes his way out of the airport, Viktor looks up the location tags on an Instagram photo of Phichit and Yuuri at practice and plugs the info into an app to get directions.  Finding the place isn't quite as difficult as he’d thought it might be, which is good, but his English fails him a bit when he tries to decide which bus route to take.  A lovely young lady not much older than himself,with bright eyes and a shy smile, approaches him and asks for his autograph.  After signing her phone case with a bright red permanent marker her companion pulls out of his backpack, Viktor gives her his best sad puppy dog eyes and asks her if she would mind to help him figure out how to get to his destination.

“Is this your first time in Detroit?”

“…it's that obvious, huh?”

The girl laughs softly and helps him plan out his route.  She's even kind enough to write down the names of his stops and the bus numbers he'll need to take so he won't get lost.  He takes a selfie with her as a reward for her kindness and tags her when he posts it to Instagram: “Just met the best fan ever!!  Thank you so much!!!  #detroitisconfusing #englishishard”

It's almost dinnertime by the time he finally makes it to the ice rink, and he could absolutely not have timed it any better.  Yuuri and Phichit are walking out just as he approaches the building.  Breaking into a run, he catches up to them just as they reach the corner of the block.

“Hey, Yuuri!” he calls.  “Yuuri Katsuki!”

Both men turn to face him, looking between him and each other several times.  The air of confusion between them is almost comical, but he has a job to do, a mission to complete, and nothing can stop him now.

Viktor offers his hand and puts on his biggest, friendliest grin.  “My name is Viktor Nikiforov.  It's a pleasure to meet you in person finally!”

Yuuri exchanges another glance with his lover and slowly shakes Viktor’s hand.  “Uh, likewise….”

“I'm sorry to hear that you decided to retire,” he continues, a bit less loudly.  “I’m a huge fan of yours, and I was sad that I wouldn't have the chance to skate against you again, but I know you must be sad too.  I know how much you love figure skating, so it must be difficult for you to leave the sport, so I thought that--”

“Viktor, no offense,” Phichit interrupts, “but what the hell are you doing here?”

Makkachin lays down on the sidewalk beside him, and Viktor fishes a treat for him out of the front pouch of his suitcase.  They've both had a terribly long day.  Standing once again, he faces Yuuri and Phichit and stretches out his arm to point at his idol.  “Starting today, I want you to become my new coach, Yuuri!”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly do you do with a teenager who suddenly appears on your doorstep? Viktor, Yuuri, and Phichit eat dinner and avoid talking about the elephant in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! So sorry about the huge delay in getting this chapter up. Life has been really hectic lately, and I had a bad few weeks with anxiety and depression and stuff that zapped away my motivation and muse. But!!! The update is here, and I hope you enjoy it! From here on out, chapters are probably gonna be about this size, around 3,000 words. I can't pump out 8,000 word installments of this bad boy like the first part, or else it would never get done. Whoops.

The best thing about America, Viktor quickly decides, is the variety of people.  There are people from all over the world in America, bringing parts of their culture with them.  Detroit is a big city, and the number of people with different backgrounds and languages and cultures is astonishing.  Viktor has always been fascinated by cultural differences, since he's had the opportunity to travel to many different countries many different times and experience it for himself.  He enjoys that part of figure skating, having the chance to see other countries and other ways of life, and he feels like a better person for those experiences.

His favorite part of cultural exchange, though, is eating new food!  Instead of going straight back to Yuuri and Phichit’s apartment, they end up going to dinner to a Japanese restaurant.  He's never had Japanese food before, and he takes his time perusing the menu before asking his hosts what they recommend.

“Sushi!” is Phichit’s enthusiastic suggestion, while Yuuri quietly recommends the entire menu.

Viktor nods.  He's about to ask a few questions about what certain dishes are made with, but Phichit leans onto his elbows and gives him a huge grin.  “So!  Are you serious about Yuuri being your new coach,  Viktor?”

He glances over at Yuuri quickly, who has gone back to looking at his menu with a faint blush spreading across his face.  “I am!”

Yuuri buries his face deeper into his menu, and Phichit’s smile begins to look just a little sinister.  “Well, it would have been nice if your current coach could have at least called us first before sending you here.  We could have told both of you that Yuuri doesn't plan to take on any students in the foreseeable future.”

“Phichit, stop _. _ ”  Yuuri’s voice is soft as he scolds his fiancé, but it's enough to make him sit back in his chair with a frown.

“Listen, Viktor,” Yuuri continues, “your arrival was a little unexpected, so it's got both of us on edge.  Let's just...let's try to enjoy this meal together for now.  We'll go back to the apartment and talk about everything then, okay?”

“Yuuri--” Phichit protests, but he stops short, giving in with a sigh and a vague wave of his hand.  “Whatever.  Not like we can put him back on a plane immediately, anyway.”

Makkachin whimpers at his side, nudging his thigh underneath the table.  The poor darling could probably sense the tension in the air.  He's always been sensitive to things like that.  Viktor gives him scratches behind his ears and tries to quiet him.  The restaurant staff only allowed him to come in because there were no other customers, but if he started making a fuss, they'd have to take him back outside.

“So…”

Viktor looks back up.  “Yes?”

“What breed is he?” Yuuri asks, pointing down to the pup.

“Makkachin’s a poodle.”

“Ah, I thought so.”  A smile blooms on Yuuri’s face, and Viktor’s quite sure his heart stops beating for a moment because it’s so beautiful.  “I used to have a poodle, too, back when I lived in Japan.”

_ I know _ , Viktor thinks to himself.   _ The only reason why I ever wanted a poodle in the first place was to be like you. _  What he says aloud, though, is simply, “That’s cool.”

The worst thing about America, he also decides, is that they have a ridiculously high drinking age.  He’s trying to decide if he should go with sushi or something else when he spots sake on the drinks list.  Much to his dismay, he’s told that he’s not old enough to purchase alcohol here, which at first he thinks must mean the state of Michigan.  (Or whichever state they’re in.  He’s pretty sure it’s Michigan.)  Yuuri and Phichit exchange a knowing glance, complete with suppressed smirks, and inform him that the legal drinking age in the U.S. is 21.

“Well, that’s just stupid,” he pouts.

“Tell me about it,” his hosts reply in unison.

The final consensus on their meal, decided only moments before the young lady arrives to take their orders, is that Viktor will put his absolute, steadfast trust in Phichit’s  _ excellent _ taste in sushi and sashimi from this restaurant, and anything that Viktor likes, he can order again.  Yuuri, smiling at their animated gestures and trying not to laugh, places his order in his native tongue, so Viktor doesn't understand a single thing.  His voice is soft, but the speed of his syllables is incredibly quick.  Viktor wonders for a moment if he speaks Russian like Yuuri speaks Japanese, but probably not.  It might just be a cultural thing.

(Japanese is an especially beautiful-sounding language when Yuuri is the one speaking it.  He wishes sometimes he could become kanji and kana, that he could flow over Yuuri’s tongue as gracefully.)

The conversation continues on in the same lively fashion even after their food arrives.  The wall of ice Phichit initially built in front of him melts and then slowly evaporates as time passes, and Viktor let's himself be hopeful.   He felta bit guilty at first for showing up without any warning, for dropping himself unceremoniously into the midst of their lives and expecting their immediate and unquestioning support.  Especially after being called out on his thoughtlessness.  It can be hard for him to draw the line between appropriate levels of self-confidence and just pure egotism and selfishness.

But surely, once they understood that his motives for this endeavor were mostly  _ selfless _ , they would understand, right?  Everyone in the figure skating world knew how much Yuuri loved this life, creating rputines and performing flawlessly and  _ winning _ .  Yuuri’s drive inspired Viktor so much over the years, and if Yuuri is gone, if Yuuri throws in the towel and refuses to keep trying, then what's the point?

In the months since he'd announced his retirement, gossip spread like wildfire about Yuuri’s reasons.  Some people speculated that Yuuri was hiding some kind of terminal illness from the world.  Others thought that he may have sustained an injury which necessitated retirement.  He also read an article online whose author seemed to think that there was nothing sinister in his retirement, that he'd simply made the decision that was best for himself and his fiancé, as a couple, as a family.  Viktor couldn't quite believe that, but he supposes it's a possibility.  What about quitting a career you love and that you make tons of money from could be considered a  _ good _ decision?

One completely outrageous claim stated that his departure from the sport was because Phichit had been repeatedly unfaithful with a variety of their competitors, and Yuuri was unwilling to support and skate alongside a man who would treat him so badly.  This, of course, was the most repulsive and hurtful bullshit he'd ever heard.  Anyone who ever so much as  _ looked _ at the two of them knew they were destined for one another, souls bound to each other at their most basic levels.  Viktor doesn't really believe in reincarnation, but it wouldn't be difficult for him to imagine Phichit and Yuuri finding each other in each successive life, unsatisfied until their lovers’ hearts were reunited once again.

“You're such an ass, Phichit….” Yuuri said, fishing a wet straw wrapper out of his drink.

“No,  _ you're _ the ass,” Phichit replied petulantly, dropping another one in.

(Well.  Not everything can be super-cutesy and romantic all the time, he supposes.)

Whatever the reason, though, Viktor can't let Yuuri go through with this.  He knows in his heart that retiring now is the absolute worst decision Yuuri can make.  His career is on the highest of high notes, and only an idiot would ruin everything by leaving now when he's on top of the world.  Viktor’s goal is to help Yuuri see that this sport would be worse off overall if he just walked away, and he won't stop until his idol announces that he's coming back.

Baby steps, though.  He's gotta convince Yuuri to be his coach first.

He's on his third piece of sushi when Yuuri’s food is delivered.  So far everything he’s eaten has been delicious.  He's not normally a huge fan of fish--he would rather have other types of seafood, if given the choice--but he finds himself groaning in delight at every bite he takes.  Sushi quickly skyrockets to the top of his list of favorite foreign foods he's tried.

Right up until the waitress sets down a huge bowl in front of Yuuri, that is.  He's not sure what it is, but it smells heavenly.  Pork, maybe?  He's still working on the salmon Phichit just offered him, but as soon as he finishes chewing, he asks, “Yuuri, what's that?”

“Katsudon,” he replies.

“He  _ always _ gets katsudon,” Phichit says.

Yuuri pauses, a slice of fried meat halfway to his mouth.  “Not always.”

“Yes, always.  Every single time we come here, you get katsudon.”

Yuuri chose to ignore the comment, opting instead to tuck into his meal.  Viktor took the opportunity to ask more questions about the food: what's in it?, how is it made?, does it taste as good as it smells?  To his credit, Yuuri takes his curiosity in stride and puts up with the interrogation.  

“Do you want to try a bite?” he offers.

Viktor feels his smile slip.  “Oh no, no, no!  I'm sorry!  I didn't mean to be rude.  It just looked really good, and I got excited, because I like trying new food.”

“No, it's fine.  You can have some, if you'd like.”  Yuuri smiles at him.  “I'll steal a piece of Phichit’s sushi if I'm still hungry.”

They end up asking for an extra bowl and split the katsudon between them.  It is, without a doubt, the tastiest food Viktor has ever eaten.  The pork cutlet is tender and juicy, and the rice absorbs a bunch of flavor from the meat and other ingredients, and even though he's a bit hesitant at first about the raw egg on top, he finds that all the tastes comes together really well.  He shovels the dish into his mouth, barely taking time to breathe in between bites, and by the time he finishes, he's got a half-dozen grains of rice stuck all over his face.

“Vkusno!”  He leans back in his seat and rubs his belly.  “Oh my god, that was  _ so _ yummy!  Is this the food the gods eat?”

Yuuri’s face breaks out into a smile and he shimmies his shoulders in what has got to be the cutest display of pleased contentment Viktor has ever seen.  “I'm glad you liked it.”

“You sure do know how to brown-nose, Viktor,” says Phichit.  “Katsudon is Yuuri’s favorite food.  Anybody who likes it is automatically his best friend.”

The Japanese skater grins, trying to hide how happy he is that he's converted another soul to the wonders of the pork cutlet bowl.  “I love them so much, but I can't have them very often.  I gain weight easily, so I only allowed myself to eat one after I won a competition, and sometimes after I placed second if Phichit was the one who beat me.”

“He had to ask very nicely,” Phichit confirms with a nod.  When Yuuri glances over at him, he winks, and his fiancé’s entire face goes bright red, all the way up to his ears.

The innuendo hits Viktor somewhat belatedly, but when it does, he can't suppress a childish giggle.  (And then he turns pink too, because he's suddenly imagining being intimate with Yuuri, thinking about how great of a lover he must be if his skating is anything to go by, how he would literally trade his left arm to be able to have Yuuri to himself for just one night, and--)

One of them says his name, and he's not exactly sure who.  He looks up, trying not to let his mind return to its previous fantasy.  It's never going to happen, so he shouldn't focus on it.  But still!  Yuuri is so much cooler in person, so much kinder and sweeter, and a thousand times more gorgeous, and not drifting off into his own thoughts is honestly the most difficult thing Viktor’s ever had to do.  “Sorry?”

“Do you want anymore sushi?” Phichit repeats.  “You still haven't tried ikura yet.”

For a half-second, Viktor’s brain function stops.  “ _ Ikra _ ?  Like...you mean, caviar?”

“Salmon roe,” Yuuri clarifies.

“Isn't it really expensive?”

They both shrug.  

“I...I think I'm full anyway,” Viktor lies.  He's not  _ hungry _ anymore by any stretch of the imagination, but one more mouthful wouldn't kill him either.  It's more that he wouldn't feel right about ordering something with that kind of price tag.  He's been planning on paying for his own meal tonight and every night he stays in America, in which case he doesn't want to squander his cash right away, but he also doesn't want his hosts to feel as if they're obligated to foot the bill for him, especially if he demands  _ caviar _ straight out of the gate.  “Thank you, though.”

Yuuri does kindly offer to buy his dinner.  He protests, but Phichit chimes in with a reassurance that it would be easier if they didn't have to worry about splitting everything up.  Viktor relents hesitantly, making a promise to himself that he'll buy them dinner some other time.

As they leave the restaurant, Yuuri is quiet.  Phichit chatters and carries on enough conversation for the both of them, but Viktor notices Yuuri’s silence.  It worries him somewhat, because he's always pictured Yuuri as being someone who's easy to talk to, who's a good listener, who he could tell all his deepest secrets to.  But at the moment, Yuuri is far removed from this place and time, lost in his own thoughts.  He and Phichit are holding hands as they walk, and it seems as if those slim, dark fingers are the only thing tethering him to the ground.  Yuuri even nearly walks into a lamppost, but Phichit draws him back to the land of the living just in time.  

Viktor follows behind them closely, occasionally giving a gentle tug at Makkachin’s harness when he begins to slow down.  The dog is obviously exhausted and has to be encouraged with treats to keep going.  It's getting really late, and Viktor wishes he had some idea of how much further they'll need to walk.  The conversation slowly trails off over the course of the next block or two, and while the streets are far from silent, the void coming from Yuuri bothers him.  

In an effort to rouse himself so that he doesn't fall asleep on his feet (and maybe rouse Yuri too), Viktor asks, “So, besides tonight, have you had any katsudon lately, Yuuri?”

He doesn't get a response.  Phichit squeezes Yuuri’s hand and says his name.  “Viktor is talking to you.”

“Oh.  I'm sorry.”  Viktor repeats his question, although he's slightly beginning to regret asking in the first place.  When Yuuri responds, Viktor can hear the smile in his voice.  “Oh yeah!  I eat them all the time now, probably at least once a week.  I have more time to make them at home, and the recipe isn't that difficult.  Plus we go to that restaurant a lot, so I guess I'm kind of always eating katsudon.”

Viktor tempts Makkachin with another treat to keep him going.  He keeps his voice as casual as he can when he replies.  This is a test.  If Yuuri passes, Viktor will know without a doubt that he's going to coach him.  If he fails, well...Viktor’s not going to bother unpacking tonight.  “Why, though?  You missed the Worlds and the Four Continents, so I know you haven't won anything recently.”

Viktor expects a reaction from Phichit, but he honestly has no idea what it could be.  The absolute last thing on his list is loud, cackling laughter.  

“He's got you there, babe,” Phichit chokes out.

Yuuri turns his face away from his lover, and Viktor can see the slightly upturned corner of his mouth.  It gives him hope.  “Shut up, Phichit.”

That's all he says.  Viktor knows he could press his case, but something he can't identify feels off about the moment.  Something isn't right.  The atmosphere around the three of them has shifted into something just on the edge of uncomfortable, and Viktor doesn't want to ruin everything he's hoping to achieve.  He isn't sure if Yuuri passed the test or not, but for the moment, that's okay.

Tomorrow is a new day.

When they finally reach Yuuri and Phichit’s apartment building, Viktor is carrying Makkachin in his arms and Yuuri is steering his suitcase.  The pup is nearly bigger than he is, but he only has to make it another half block and up one flight of stairs.  His hosts offer to take the dog from him, and he really wants to accept, but Makkachin whines when they get close.  Best not, then.

By the time the front door is unlocked and they all pile into the house, Viktor’s arms are trembling with exhaustion.  Without asking, he plops Makkachin down on the couch.  Neither of the older men protest, and Viktor refuses to feel guilty.  (Though, to be honest, he does unpack Makkachin’s quilt and the lint roller immediately afterward and moves his dog off their furniture.  Maybe he feels just a tiny bit bad about it after all.)  

He checks the time on his phone.  It's nearly 11 o'clock.  No wonder.  He's about to inquire about sleeping arrangements when Yuuri appears at his side with bed linens.  “We don't really have a guest room at the moment, sorry.  We’'ll have to buy an air mattress tomorrow.”

Through the haze of sleepiness creeping over him, Viktor smiles brightly.  “So...does that mean you'll be my coach?”

Yuuri opens his mouth to respond, but a voice from the next room answers for him.  “We have a lot to talk about before anybody makes any decisions!”

“In the morning,” Yuuri adds.  “I can tell how tired you are.  The bathroom is straight down the hall, if you want to change clothes.  I'll get the couch made up for you in the meantime.”

Yuuri makes sure he has anything he could possibly need before letting him be.  It's nice to be attended to, but he's ready to pass out right about now and he can't even really comprehend anything Yuuri is saying at this point.

When he's alone finally, he sends a message to Yakov to let him know he's okay.  (He also posts a quick selfie to Instagram, because why not?  “Sooooooo sleepy…” he writes, followed by a dozen or so emojis.  He always overdoes emojis when he's tired.)  He knows Yakov won't respond, but he promised to let the old man know when he arrived.  Viktor is secretly hoping to wake up to a reply, but he won't and he's acutely aware of that fact.  Yakov is still angry at him for undertaking this endeavor, and boy, can that man hold a grudge.

It doesn't matter.  There is absolutely zero doubt in Viktor’s mind that he can convince Yuuri to be his coach this season.  The rest of the battle to get Yuuri back on the ice himself will come later.  A more immediate problem,  however, is Phichit, and Viktor drifts off to sleep that first night wondering exactly how much of a fight Yuuri’s lover is going to give him. 

**Author's Note:**

> As you can probably tell, the character dynamics and ships of this fic are going to be noticeably different than in the original series. I'm gonna tell you point blank: Viktuuri is not the endgame here. I have aged Viktor down by 10 years in order to tell the kind of story I want to tell, but everyone else's ages are remaining the same. That means a romantic relationship with Viktor and Yuuri isn't really feasible. I know Phichit/Yuuri isn't for everyone, but I hope everybody can give it a chance in the AU as I've set it up! It'll be worth it in the long run, I promise. I want to focus more on the coach/skater relationship and their friendship, and also on Yuuri's mental illness. Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
